Love Story
by QueenBee7
Summary: Kurt and Blaine's story, told in drabbles and set to the lyrics of the lovely Taylor Swift. The first chapter is a little heavy, but give it a chance!
1. A Common Thread

A/N: Hi! So, this story is basically a collection of (mostly chronological) Klaine drabbles, each inspired by a different Taylor Swift lyric. I realize that I am probably the millionth person to try my hand at telling Kurt and Blaine's story, but I was listening to Taylor the other day and realized that pretty much every other line made me think think of them, so I decided to indulge myself and give it a shot. This first chapter is pretty heavy, but I thought it was the best way to set up their relationship and explain the kind of connection they have. But after this there will be lots of fluff and Klainebows (with a bit of angst as well), I swear! So I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think.

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><p>"<em><strong>Don't be afraid, we'll make it out of this mess" – Love Story<strong>_

He hadn't even seen it coming. He was too busy screaming, too high on the feeling of finally fighting back. The rage had been festering inside of him for months, and now the words were spewing from his mouth like venom. He heard the threats, saw the fist shaking threateningly in his face, but he couldn't stop himself.

_He should have seen it coming. He was too busy enjoying himself, too high on the thought that maybe this wasn't going to be as bad as he thought, maybe people would just leave him alone. The dance had gone so much better than he had expected. He should have known that they were only saving it for this._

There were hands on his face before he knew what was happening. Rough, foreign hands that scraped against the skin of his cheeks, and he was being dragged forward against his will. There was sloppy-joe breath on his face and in his nostrils and he wanted to pull away but he wasn't strong enough. His stomach twisted when he realized what was about to happen.

_He knew what was going to happen before he felt the hands close around his arms. He'd heard the heavy footsteps, recognized the low voices even though he couldn't see them in the dark. There was hot, spiked-punch breath on his cheek, and the word "faggot" hissed through the blackness, burrowing in his ear. His stomach clenched when he realized there was nothing he could do to stop this from happening._

Lips were pressed against his, unwelcome and unrelenting. A tongue tried to pry his mouth open, but he kept it shut, clinging to this single shred of control. The hands were clutching his face so tightly that he was sure his jaw would be bruised. He was vaguely aware that this was supposed to be a kiss, but it didn't feel like that at all. It felt like an assault.

_Fists were falling everywhere, vicious and unrelenting. They were shouting insults and slurs at him, trying to provoke a response, but he kept his mouth shut tight – he wouldn't give them that satisfaction. A balled up hand connected with his jaw, and he knew that the bruises would be there for weeks, a reminder of this night every time he looked in the mirror. He assumed that this would be referred to as an assault, but it didn't feel like that. It felt like ignorance and intolerance and cold, cruel hatred._

When the hands finally released him, he was too shocked to know how to react. His own hands came to his rescue without him even directing them too, pressing against Karofsky's chest to deflect the second advance before rising to hover protectively over his mouth. He stumbled back against the lockers as Karofsky fled the scene. The cool metal was oddly reassuring against his back, something solid in a world that had just turned upside down. He was breathing heavily, and he wondered whether he was going to vomit.

_When the hands finally released him, he was too dizzy to even think about fighting back. His own hands, rather than throwing punches of his own, curled protectively over his injured stomach. He collapsed on to the sidewalk as his attackers fled the scene, secure in the anonymity provided by the darkness. The pavement felt strangely reassuring against his back, something solid in a world that was spinning. His breath came in short gasps, and he rolled on to his side and vomited. _

He felt violated. He felt dirty and disgusting and tainted, like he shouldn't be allowed to kiss other people now that his lips had touched Karofsky's. Would all of his kisses be taken without his consent? Was that what he had to expect out of life? To be used as an object by men too afraid to acknowledge the truth about themselves? He wondered how long it would take for that kind of life to destroy him.

_He felt humiliated. He felt weak and pathetic and useless, like he shouldn't be allowed to look other people in the eye now that he had proven completely incapable of defending himself. Would he always be the helpless victim? Was that what he had to look forward to? A lifetime of harassment and violence and being punished for something that had never been his choice in the first place? He wondered how long he would last in a life like that. _

He needed to talk to someone who understood. Someone who knew about the shame and the fear, the aching loneliness and that terrifying feeling of being utterly helpless. Someone who could reassure him that yes, it can get better. It _will _get better. Being gay doesn't have to mean being unhappy. He hadn't known such a person last week, but now the name sprang to his mind like a light going on in the dark. He needed Blaine.

_He wished that he could talk to someone who understood. Someone who knew what it was like to feel this alone, who had also been paralyzed by that horrible, nagging thought, the one that only managed to wiggle its way into his brain during times as dark as these – what if it never gets better? What if being gay simply means being unhappy? He didn't know such a person yet, and he wouldn't for another two years. But the idea that he might find someone like that someday sparked a faint glimmer of hope in the darkness. He didn't know it yet, of course, but he needed Kurt. _

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><p>AN: Just to clarify, this is bouncing back and forth between Kurt getting kissed by Karofsky and Blaine getting beaten up at the Sadie Hawkins dance. I realize his friend got beaten up too, but I really wanted to focus on Blaine's experience, because I feel like it establishes a foundation for his relationship with Kurt before they've even met. Or at least, that's what I was trying to convey in this story.

Thanks for reading, and please stay tuned, because there's LOTS more to come!


	2. First Day

A/N: So I know the first chapter was a little heavy, but thanks to those of you who have stuck with me! The tone of this chapter is much more reflective of what the rest of the story will be like. And... I think that's actually all I have to say right now. Wow. Hope you like it!

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><p><em><strong>"You take a deep breath and you walk through the doors, it's the morning of your very first day" <strong>_**– Fifteen**

Kurt was standing in front of the mirror in his new room at Dalton, eyeing his reflection suspiciously. He wasn't quite sure what to make of himself in a uniform – his clothes had always been one of his favorite forms of self expression, and it felt strange to have to dress like everyone else. Then again, if a uniform was the price he had to pay to finally feel safe and accepted, he could deal with that.

It had been less than a week since he made the decision to transfer. Karofsky's return to McKinley had been the final straw – he simply could not live his life in terror anymore. He had been ashamed at first, wondering if his friends, particularly Blaine, would see him as a coward. Leaving wasn't a very courageous decision, after all. But the New Directions had all been remarkably supportive, and Blaine had been thrilled to hear he was coming to Dalton. He had also given Kurt a very wise piece of advice on the situation.

"You're allowed to want to live your life on your own terms, Kurt," he had said over coffee on Saturday. "There's no shame in that."

And so, though it made his heart ache to think of all of his friends at McKinley without him, here he was at Dalton, ready to give this whole living-life-on-his-own-terms thing a shot. If only he wasn't feeling completely out of place and just a little bit terrified.

Kurt adjusted his tie one last time and dragged his eyes away from the mirror. He was going to have to leave the room at some point. He had only just moved in the day before, in a mad whirl of boxes and sheets and tearful goodbyes, but it already felt like the only familiar place in an otherwise foreign environment. He was pleased with the job he'd done decorating – it was tasteful and warm and certainly reflective of his personality. The deep red comforter on his bed was soft and cozy, and the pictures (his dad, the New Directions, the wedding) and posters (_Harry Potter_, _Wicked_, New York City) plastered on his wall made him feel at home. His side of the room was also much tidier than Thad's, which, at the moment, featured an unmade bed, a pile of dirty clothes, and a cluttered desk strewn with textbooks and notebook paper. It might have bothered him if he hadn't gotten so used to living with Finn, the world's biggest slob.

Glancing at the alarm clock on his bedside table, Kurt saw that he now had no choice but to leave his room – class started in ten minutes, and he wasn't even sure where he was supposed to be going. He also hadn't eaten anything this morning, which was unlike him (he liked to start his days with fresh fruit or yogurt), but he had been so busy fussing with his uniform and silently freaking out about the fact that he was now a student at _Dalton freaking Academy_ that he had turned down Thad's invitation to join him and some of the other Warblers for breakfast. And okay, maybe he had also secretly been hoping that Blaine would show up and offer to walk him to class, but it didn't look like _that_ was going to happen.

Taking a deep breath, he grabbed his messenger bag and opened his door, at which point he was very nearly punched in the face. He jumped backwards in surprise as Blaine, who had evidently been about to knock, stopped his fist just in time. "Oh my God! I'm so sorry!" Blaine cried.

"It's okay," Kurt reassured him once the shock had worn off. "Bad timing."

Blaine grinned. "_That_ would have been quite a start to your first day."

"Seriously," Kurt laughed.

"So, how are you feeling, new kid?" Blaine asked, giving Kurt a wink that made his stomach flip-flop.

"Nervous," Kurt admitted. "And hungry," he added, blushing as his stomach made an embarrassing grumbling noise.

"Well, I can help with that," Blaine said, pulling an apple from behind his back. "I snagged it from the cafeteria when I didn't see you at breakfast. I figured it would fit nicely with the whole first-day-of-school thing."

"Thank you," Kurt stammered, taking the apple gratefully. God, could Blaine _be_ any more perfect?

"No problem. And don't be nervous. You'll be in the swing of things in no time."

"I hope so," Kurt said.

"Being in the Warblers will make it easier. It was a huge help for me."

Kurt nodded. He did really like all of the Warblers he had met so far – they were all very friendly, if a little rambunctious.

"Plus, you already have the coolest kid in school as a friend," Blaine continued, winking again. He _really _needed to stop doing that.

"Oh really? Who's that?" Kurt quipped, slightly surprised that he was still able to be sarcastic with Blaine standing this close to him, being all charming and gorgeous.

"Watch it," Blaine warned in a mock-threatening tone, nudging Kurt playfully. He looked down at his watch. "Jeez, if we don't hurry up, you're going to be late."

Right! Class! Strange how easy it was to forget about that when certain hazel-eyed boys were standing in your doorway…

Blaine chuckled at the look of terror that had re-appeared on Kurt's face and gave his friend a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"Come on. I'll walk you."


	3. Moments

A/N: This is super short, but sweet too!

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><p>"<em><strong>You might have me believing I don't always have to be alone" <strong>_**– Hey Stephen**

After a week at Dalton, Kurt was starting to feel something close to settled. He was finding his way to all of his classes, keeping up with his homework, and having a really great time at Warbler rehearsals. He missed his friends from McKinley, especially Mercedes, but he also really liked the new friends he was making at Dalton. Thad, though a little messy for Kurt's liking, was a great and welcoming roommate, inviting Kurt along any time he went somewhere. Wes and David were kind and supportive, and Nick and Jeff were hilarious and easy to get along with. Best of all, none of them seemed even the slightest bit bothered by the fact that Kurt was gay.

And then there was Blaine, who every day seemed to attain new levels of perfection. They were together all the time, at meals, at Warbler rehearsals, after class and on the weekends. The only other person Kurt had ever clicked with this easily was Mercedes, and in some ways Blaine was even better because he was a guy and he was gay. Between their similar experiences with bullying and their many shared interests (everything from _Harry Potter_ to Marion Cotillard), they just _got_ each other. It was nice. For once in his life, Kurt didn't feel so alone.

There was also the small matter of Kurt's rapidly developing crush on Blaine, but he was trying not to think too hard about that. He didn't think Blaine actually liked him back, but at least they were friends and at least Blaine was gay. That was progress, right?

Besides, there were moments. They weren't particularly significant, and they probably meant much more to Kurt than they did to Blaine, but still, they were there. Sometimes, when he was alone or sad or just bored, Kurt liked to replay them in his head. He figured that was a little bit pathetic, but hey – it was _his_ head. He could obsess over whatever he damn well pleased.

He had a collection of favorites that he liked to reflect back on: winks, hugs, times their hands had brushed while walking side by side in the hallway. Lying shoulder to shoulder on Blaine's bed, giggling as they flipped through the latest issue of _Vogue_. The day Blaine picked up the last strawberry yogurt at lunch so no one else could take it before Kurt got there.

Just yesterday, on their traditional after-school coffee date, Blaine had ordered a peppermint hot chocolate, taken a sip, and then wordlessly passed it to Kurt. When Kurt looked baffled, he said, "You like peppermint, right? I figured you'd want to try."

At which point Kurt had taken a sip – it was delicious – while silently freaking out about the fact that his lips were now touching the exact same spot Blaine's had been just moments before. Because _ohmigod_, it was almost like they were kissing. Not really, but still. A boy could dream.

It was during moments like that, when they did things that boyfriends might do, that Kurt allowed himself to hope. Because even though they were just friends, and even though his feelings weren't reciprocated, Kurt had never imagined that he might someday find someone to do boyfriend-like things with. As the only out kid at McKinley, he had always assumed that his life would be a lonely one, at least in high school. But with Blaine, for the first time in his life, being not alone seemed like an actual possibility.

And maybe someday, if he was really, unbelievably lucky, he and Blaine could be not alone together.


	4. Sheet Music

A/N: Reviews are lovely :)

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><p><em>"<strong>Run your hands through your hair, absentmindedly making me want you"<strong>_** – Fearless**

The door to Kurt's room burst open with a bang and Blaine came tumbling through it, looking positively frantic.

"Have you seen my sheet music?" he said urgently, glancing around the room.

"Umm, no, I don't think so," Kurt replied, hurriedly minimizing the email he had been typing to Mercedes, which may or may not have included an entire paragraph (or three) about the anxious boy now pacing around his bedroom.

Blaine let out a moan of frustration.

"I can't find it anywhere!" he cried, running a hand through his hair and making it stick up at a variety of odd angles. Kurt stifled a giggle and focused on looking concerned.

"I guess you already searched your room?"

"I practically tore it apart looking," Blaine nodded. "It didn't get mixed in with yours? Or maybe I left it in here when we were rehearsing?"

"I think I would have noticed," Kurt said, shuffling through his own sheet music and the neatly stacked notebooks on his desk. "Yeah, it's not here."

Blaine ran a hand through his hair again, and Kurt valiantly tried (and failed miserably) not to notice how ridiculously adorable Blaine looked with his hair all tousled and messy like that.

"It had all my notes on it," Blaine said despairingly, sitting down on Kurt's bed. "Wes is going to _kill_ me."

"He's your best friend," Kurt offered consolingly, extracting himself from a pleasant fantasy about running his _own_ hands through Blaine's curls. Oh, what it would be like to be the one responsible for making Blaine's hair look like that –

"He has a gavel," Blaine pointed out.

It was hard to argue with that.

"We could go check the commons before rehearsal," Kurt suggested, grabbing his own sheet music and standing up. "Maybe you left it there."

"Yeah, okay," Blaine sighed, also standing.

By this point, Kurt had managed to drag his eyes away from Blaine's rumpled hair for long enough to take in the rest of his appearance.

"Hey, Blaine?" he said as they walked towards the door.

"Yeah?"

"What's that sticking out of your pocket?"

Blaine reached into his pocket and pulled out several folded pieces of paper, which looked suspiciously like the missing sheet music. He let out a great sigh of relief.

"I am _such_ an idiot."

"Only sometimes," Kurt grinned.

"It's a good thing I keep you around," Blaine said, holding the door open for Kurt.

Kurt found himself thinking that Blaine could keep him around forever if he wanted.


	5. Listening

Okay, so it's been an EXTREMELY long time since I updated this story, but here's another little chapter. I have a bunch of one-shots already written for this, but they don't fit chronologically with where the story is write now, so I'm holding out on posting them. Hopefully there will be more soon...

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><p><em><strong>"<strong>**I watch you talk, you didn't notice, I hear the words but all I can think is we should be together"**_** – Hey Stephen**

Kurt had developed an unfortunate tendency of not paying attention when Blaine talked to him.

Okay, that sounded way worse than it actually was. It wasn't like he was _willfully_ zoning out whenever Blaine started speaking. It was just that – well, he had other things on his mind, okay? Like the way Blaine's lips curved around his words, say, or the way he laughed at his own stupid jokes.

And, you know, occasionally (frequently) his mind would wander to hopeless daydreams of the two of them being together. Like, as boyfriends. Because _oh_, wouldn't _that_ be nice.

Unfortunately, this tendency was starting to get Kurt into some very awkward situations. The other day, he had snapped out of a particularly lovely fantasy involving Blaine, a beach, and a sunset to find Blaine looking at him expectantly, clearly waiting for Kurt to answer a question he had just asked. Kurt had said "yes" and nodded vigorously, only to discover shortly thereafter that he had just expressed his undying love for Latin literature and agreed to accompany Blaine to a guest lecture by some crusty old Latin scholar. Which, incidentally, hadn't been so bad, especially when they got there late and had to squeeze impossibly close together in the last empty spot. Kurt's mind still reeled when he thought about the heat and the feel of Blaine pressed so tightly against him.

And now it was happening again. It was Thursday night and they were all hanging out in Blaine's room – Wes and David were sprawled out on Blaine's bed, Nick and Jeff were taking turns pushing each other out of Blaine's bean bag chair, and Kurt was sitting on the floor with his back against the wall. Blaine himself was seated cross-legged in his desk chair, chatting animatedly about _Great Expectations_, which he was reading for his English class.

The rest of the boys were making periodic contributions to the discussion (David was a big Dickens fan, while Jeff found all books lacking pictures boring), but Kurt was sitting there just _watching _Blaine talk. His eyes were bright, his hands were flying around in a variety of different gestures, and he was grinning as he talked. It always amazed Kurt how passionate Blaine got about pretty much _everything_. The boy practically radiated enthusiasm, and Kurt absolutely loved that about him.

This time, Kurt tuned back into the conversation at the sound of his own name.

"Hey, Kurt, I was hoping you could read over my essay once I finish it," Blaine said eagerly. "I'd love to get your opinion. What do you think?"

_I think we should be together._

Wait, what?

"Yeah, absolutely. I'd love to," Kurt replied.

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><p>As always, feedback is VERY much appreciated :)<p> 


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